


The Wizard of Blue Earth

by demonfox38



Series: DLC from DF38 [14]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Car Accidents, Christmas Eve Disasters, Gen, Magic, Minnesota, Veterinary Medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonfox38/pseuds/demonfox38
Summary: Nothing says Christmas fun like getting into a car wreck with a warg. Luckily, there's a miracle to be had.
Series: DLC from DF38 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677937
Kudos: 7





	The Wizard of Blue Earth

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted on December 18th, 2013 at Tumblr. It was the TF2PromptFest Secret Santa work for that year. I've got it written down that this was also for CosmicTuesdays. Maybe I got them two years in a row?

He had forgotten how dark and cold the winters could be.

When he didn't have to spend his nights buried in a farmer's haystack, watching for the fields with dead cows, he could let go of what he had survived. No one was asking him to trek through the Black Forest in the dead of night, to sacrifice Christmas Eve to his country. Not that anyone had made such a request of him. He had been young and impatient, bloodthirsty. And yet, he had been able to put aside such a beast when he came home. It was only in the cold winter winds that he remembered what a ferocious monster he was.

He could hide his anger with a smile. His rage went into his work. That patriotic blood that ran within him—star spangled, red, white and blue—could be seen on his house, flying from his flagpole. Sun, rain, snow—it didn't matter. The part of him that was a soldier could pour from him in new ways. He could be civilized. The winter wind would always know, though. Of how he had slaughtered officers and soldiers alike, buried snipers in the frozen ground.

He saw these horrible deeds in the sheen of icy roads.

It was a long, treacherous trip to his grandmother's house. His family would be waiting for him. Perhaps not with the fondest of anticipation, but waiting all the same. That was the damnedest thing about his family. None of them were ever happy to see each other, but they still got together. Grandma deserved one happy, beautiful day out of the year. Each child and grandchild saw that she got it.

The drive was always the worst by Blue Earth. Hippie name for a town, if he ever heard of one. The roads would change from flat, open plains to jagged cliffs. Some glacier's joke, no doubt. He watched the right side of the road, looking for yellow eyes in the dark night. Deer lived here. Raccoons, too.

Static popped from the radio. The former soldier reached for the dial, switching it back and forth. No station could cut through the wind and snow. He sighed, then flipped it off. His right hand hovered over the heat register, tough fingers warmed by the running engine. He wished he had found such a luxury in the war-torn countryside of Germany. Then again, he had discovered more important items—dropped guns, grenades, a rocket launcher. How to fly.

His eyes returned to the road as a black mass struck his truck.

The former soldier stomped up and down on the truck's brakes. He rode the spinning, fish-tailing vehicle to a halt. He only caught his breath after the truck came to a full stop. The front tires were too close to the edge of the road to be comfortable. He grimaced, then put his truck into reverse. Slowly, he pulled himself onto the road.

His nose burned, as if old Fritz had come out of his grave and punched him across his nose. His stomach was jarred two feet to the left. His shoulders ached from tensing up. He shook his head, trying to pull himself together. He was alive. The truck was still running. Sure, the front end was smashed inwards, wrinkled like the folds of an accordion, but both he and it were functional. That was more than he could have asked for.

Glancing around, the former soldier found what he had hit. The sight of the creature stole the warm breath out of his lungs. No deer or raccoon was this beast. It was massive, black, bleeding onyx ichor. It was larger than a bear, but it had the shape of a wolf. It lay on his side, coarse hair prickled and chest heaving. The former soldier looked into its orange eyes, frightened in a way he hadn't been in over a decade. He was looking into the eyes of a cryptid, something that should not exist.

Common courtesy was that a driver should back over any animal it had struck and not killed. This was not a possible action for such a large beast.

The former soldier cringed as he caught a new wrinkle to his accident. Around the gargantuan wolf's scruffy neck was a leather collar. The human grabbed the flashlight in his glove box and stepped out of the vehicle. He left his door ajar, the truck running, heat seeping into the black winter night. It wasn't a smart idea to go poke at a dying animal, but he had no choice. This was someone's pet, and he would do a disservice in leaving it on the side of the road.

Shining gold was below the wolf's maw. The former soldier peered over the inscription on the tag. He could hardly make it out. Keeping the light on the tag, he read the inscription. It was a name—something in a language he couldn't make out—then an address. No phone number. The soldier stood up, not sure what to do. He couldn't very well take the tag, least the animal bit him. He couldn't dawdle for much longer, either. There was only so much apple pie at Grandma's, and his uncle would eat it all if he didn't get there in time.

The man looked back at his truck. A tiring idea crossed his mind. He had a Minnesota state map in his glove compartment and a jack, rope, blanket, and shovel in the back of his truck. The creature was big, but he was strong. He could carry it, if he avoided that mouth and took it easy.

It was crazy, but he had to do it. He couldn't let some poor family not know what happened to their monster dog on Christmas Eve.

The former soldier grabbed the rope from the truck's bed. He wrapped it around the ribs and back of the beast. Its breath was slowing, eyes less focused. He maneuvered the body into his vehicle, careful to avoid bumping injuries. It wasn't easy to pull a wolf off the road, but it was a hell of a lot more manageable than moving the carcass of a dead bull around. He pushed the rump of the monster up, then closed up the bed. He gave the monster a pitiful glance, then fished out a cheap blanket from inside. He threw it overtop the monster's body, then made sure it was tied and secured.

Sitting down once more, the former soldier traced a course east and south of his destination. It was going to put him half an hour out of his path, but so be it. There were some events worth doing right.

Mighty monsters like the two of them owed each other a favor, lest they shared each other's secrets.

/***/

There were lights in the brush this evening.

The old man was not expecting company tonight. If anything, he was looking forward to an evening of peace. Too many mortals were nosy about his work. At least on Christmas, they would give him peace. All except for this one strange fellow headed his way. He didn't think there was a human alive that wouldn't engage in holiday practices. At least, none of the simple-minded humans around here, anyway.

He was beginning to doubt ever moving here. Scotland was cold, wet, but at least had fire in its people. Everyone that lived in this place was too polite and dull, like mashed potatoes. The most he could ask for was butter or salt, and even then, he would get an odd eye. He wouldn't be here much longer, though. Once the world was safe, he would move on again. Hopefully, to some place hot and dry. With spicy food.

A battered red truck pulled up to his cottage. It paused, then spun backwards towards his front door. He watched with weathered eyes, his hand loose and prepared to cast a barrier. The mortal managed to stop a few feet before his doorway. He shot a dark glare at the vehicle, unfamiliar with the broad-shouldered man approached his door. He stepped away from the bay window in his main room, then went to answer the stranger's knocking.

"What do you want?" the old man hissed.

The strong fellow at his door gave a nervous glance to his truck. "I…I hit your dog."

The old man lifted his head. "I don't have a—" His words stopped up when he looked in the back of the truck. There, beneath a checkered blanket, was a great, black warg. The light was going out of its eyes, red tongue slipping between sharp teeth.

A pained contraction in the old man's heart came out of his throat in a word that the mortal did not understand. "Vígolfr!" He circled the van, his eyes white and sharp in the storm. A sharp pain pierced the traveler's heart. He froze his face, stoic, remembering colder, bloodier days. This was going to be difficult. He knew this coming in. Still, this deed needed to be done.

"What did you do to him?" the strange old man hissed.

The former soldier kept his cool. He began unbinding the monster as he told his tale. "I was driving to my grandmother's for Christmas. He dashed onto the road, and I couldn't—" He halted, then corrected himself. "I didn't stop in time. I found your address on his collar and decided to return him to you."

The old man spat at him. "Why? So I could watch him suffer? You humans—"

"Because I didn't want you wondering for all your life about what monster killed him!" the soldier spat back. His eyebrows set into a sharp arch, his straight teeth speaking without chatter in the chilly air. "I've seen enough dead animals and men in my time, mister. I'm not having any of that tonight. Not in the United States, and not on Christmas! But if you want to keep yelling at me, then yell away!"

The younger man's anger surprised the old man. His own rage subsided, if just for a moment. Here was a passionate man trying to make amends for his behavior, so engrossed in his emotions and sense of duty that he didn't flinch when he was insulted. He hadn't made any quips about the old man's home, nor his strange robes or large pet. He had a stubbornness about him, or at least an admirable stupidity.

Arguing wasn't going to help his warg. The old man pointed inside his ramshackle house. "There may still be time. Get inside and boil a pot of water."

"Excuse me?" the former soldier asked.

"Do you wish to help me, or not?" the old man snarled.

Raising his hands, the younger man surrendered. There was little he could do without causing another disturbance. He clambered up creaking boards, then entered the small hut. His forehead passed through a series of wind chimes and baubles. More glass ornaments hanged from the kitchen roof, around the main room and in the rafters. Emptied animal skulls were hung on the walls. Most concerning of all was the bleached skull of a human sitting on the fireplace. The young man scowled, but he paid it no mind. If the old bastard was going to harm him, he could fight back.

He went to the black stove. A wood burner, something that had been replaced in most homes years ago. He grabbed a copper-bottom kettle, then filled it with water. As it began to boil, the old man brought his animal inside the home, rotating the creature through a door it was never supposed to enter. The former soldier watched with wide, unbelieving eyes. The old man was floating the beast through the door and the air, surrounded by a green energy field. He laid the dying wolf in front of the fireplace, keeping the beast's body warm as he worked.

"What are you?" the former soldier asked. "Some kind of freaking wizard?"

The old man gave him a crooked glance. "Did the wand and the familiar not give that away? Of course I am a wizard!" He pointed his black, sharp wand at the man in his kitchen. "Why? What does it matter to you?"

The former soldier stared at the wand, then back at its owner. "It doesn't. Just don't run into a wizard every day." He nodded towards the decapitated fish heads on the wizard's belt. "Figured you were Lutheran or something. Maybe Swedish. Lutefisk, right?"

"No," the magician replied.

Hissing steam from the boiling pot interrupted the duo's arguments. The wizard turned back to his massive familiar, going over its wounds. He reached for a cloth towel and jars filled with green leaves and slimes. The former soldier brought the pot of water to the wizard's side. The latter threw the cloth into it, not flinching as he shoved his hand into boiling water. He began patting at the wounds around his warg's body, noting where there were broken bones and tears.

"I think I can save him," the magician said. He glared at his unexpected guest. "Assuming you don't want to finish the job, of course."

The younger man shook his head, falling silent.

The wizard began his work. He scooped a handful of one kind of leaf out, then threw it into the pot. It was followed by a generous hunk of slime and another set of leaves. The concoction reeked like witch-hazel and mint. As soon as that was mashed to a smooth form, he took his cloth. With one tap of his wand, it shed off a terrycloth brother. The wizard dunked the rag into the salve, then threw it at the guest.

"Get to work," the wizard ordered.

The former soldier stared, dumbfounded about the demand. The stinking slime was seeping into his skin. Cuts from the abrasive winter winds stitched shut. A healing potion, no doubt. He crouched next to the massive wolf, then pressed the cloth into its wounds. Flesh mended under his fingers. His eyes glimmered with a curious twinkle. He pushed the cloth up, watching the flesh zip shut. His cloth went black with blood, but dry of medicine.

The wizard took it from his hand, then shook the cloth into the fireplace. The blood splattered inside, orange flames glowing ice blue. Sufficiently cleaned, he dunked it back into the pot and handed it back to his guest. "Good work. Continue."

"Thanks," the former soldier replied. He smiled, feeling the dog's skin warm up under his touch. "Where'd you get the recipe for this, anyway? Seems like the thing you can make a big buck on selling."

The wizard bobbed his head. "I traded my hair growth tonic for a copy of this spell. An old cleric in Rottenburg, Germany was the original manufacturer. He and his descendants went underground during the last war. They haven't been heard from since."

"Wow. To think this was there…" the guest trailed off.

The wizard tipped his head, now more mystified by his guest than vice versa. "You were there?"

The young soldier nodded. "Not in Rottenburg, specifically, but I was in the area. Lot of dead cows around there. Among other things."

"I would suppose so," the wizard murmured. He patted the warg's front left paw. The animal drew it back, sensation returning to its limbs. "The wars of men often create chaos in magic circles. Most of us have to go into hiding to prevent further damage. Myself included, unfortunately."

The guest grumbled. He gave the massive wolf's back a scratch, then worked on his ears. "That's why I went to fight. Someone had to stop those bastards. Can't hide from tyrants forever. Would have been a lot easier if I had magic powers, though."

"There was a time when we feared what magic the common man would learn. Your kind is growing evermore treacherous," the wizard huffed. "We can hardly tolerate your deeds."

"Like you're not human," the former soldier huffed. "You had to be, at one point. Before you started wearing a dress and animal skulls on your head."

The wizard sneered at his guest. "I've tried to get past that point in my life."

There was a whimper from the warg. He perked up his ears, then lifted his muzzle from the ground. The young guest scratched at his fluffy face. That earned him a few tail wags, a couple of thumps from the monster's back feet. He rolled onto his spine, knocking his head into his master's lap. The former soldier gave his belly a good scratching, the massive wolf's feet twitching in the air.

"Looks like he's doing better," the younger man grinned.

The wizard nodded in agreement. He smiled, happy with the turn of events. Catching a glimpse of the goofy guest's face, he changed his mind. He picked the pot off the ground, then put it into his kitchen sink. Both dog and man watched him walk away.

"You may go, human," the wizard said. "You have paid for your transgression."

The guest stood up, the warg following him. It was like standing next to a shaggy horse. He entered the kitchen, then glanced at the door. His family was waiting for him. At this rate, he was going to be an hour late. The grandkids would be tucked into bed, presents hidden around the old farmhouse. The adults would be getting hammered on schnapps of all flavors.

That apple pie would definitely be gone by now.

"Yeah, I…I guess," the former soldier replied.

That didn't get him out the door. The guest studied the strange man in the kitchen, wondering about what a wizard did on Christmas. Or any other day, to be honest. He knew that he would have gone completely nuts if he had to live alone every day. Did that ever bother the stranger?

Well, at least he had a dog. A giant, black wolf of a dog. That was something.

"Say, uh…what's your name?" the guest asked.

The wizard narrowed his eyes. "Merasmus."

"What in the hell kind of name is that?" the former soldier gawked.

"Well, what's so special about yours? Or what even is it?" Merasmus growled back.

The Soldier extended his hand. "Jane Doe."

Merasmus shook his head. "You have a woman's name, and you tease me."

"Look, I…I just wanted to tell you something important," Jane replied. He stomped into the kitchen, then forced eye-contact with the old wizard. "You don't have to live alone out here, you know. And you and your smelly wizards don't have to keep hiding from us. We're not all world dominating monsters."

The words were awkward, but genuine. Merasmus stared at the invasive house guest. There were explosions in his soul, fires in his brain. Something dark and awful lurked in his shadow. This was not just a young man speaking with him. It was a blood-splattered paladin, a mad crusader who had sheathed his blade. He was a creature of radiating ignorance and pain, something truly to be feared.

Perhaps not the worst man to keep tabs on.

"I will take that into consideration," the wizard agreed. "Goodnight, Mister Jane Doe."

"Goodnight, strange wizard guy," Jane replied.

The former soldier left the strange shack, closing the door behind him with a little jingle. The wizard's warg watched from the window, fascinated with the creature leaving their estate. Merasmus lifted his head, then grumbled to himself. The human had gone out of his way to be kind. Perhaps he wasn't completely insufferable.

Rolling his eyes, Merasmus stuck his wand towards the door. A ray of green lighting shot through the glass, striking the front of the car. It rippled across the truck's frame. Metal popped into place, glass lights melting together once more. Jane's eyes lit up with the same electric green color. He gave the wizard two honks of his horn, then sped away into the dark, snowy night.

Peace came over the cottage once more. The old wizard sat at his table, his faithful familiar curled in front of the fireplace. The winter felt cold and blue without another highly sentient being. He wondered for a moment if he shouldn't have been so curmudgeonly with the stranger. That guilt passed in a flash. No, that human was a walking headache. It was good to see him gone. Hopefully, to never see him again.

Still, it was Christmas in Germany. Most of Europe, by now.

He snapped his boney fingers. A black cauldron sprung into the fireplace. Merasmus grabbed more herbs, then pushed his warg back from the fire. He sat against the mound of black fur as he began the old calling ritual. There was a necromancer in England, an augur in Italy, a hydromancer in the Netherlands. Lonesome warlocks and witches, weary of human affairs.

People that didn't need to be left alone or hide any longer.


End file.
